


the world is one great battlefield, with forces all arrayed

by kbirb



Category: Green Creek Series - T.J. Klune
Genre: 1960s, 60s slang, Alternate Universe - 1960s, M/M, Margo - Freeform, Slang, Stonewall, Stonewall Inn, Stonewall Riots, Stonewall was a riot, historical fiction - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:27:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22719895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kbirb/pseuds/kbirb
Summary: Mark Bennett is a young gay man in the 1960s. He goes to the Stonewall Inn regularly. His boyfriend is the son of a mafia boss. And they riot.
Relationships: Mark Bennett/Gordo Livingstone
Comments: 9
Kudos: 17
Collections: Green Creek Valentine's Day Challenge





	the world is one great battlefield, with forces all arrayed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Flowerparrish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flowerparrish/gifts).



> _"You've been treating us like shit all these years? Uh-uh. Now it's our turn!... It was one of the greatest moments in my life."_ \- Sylvia Rivera
> 
> A few notable trigger warnings: guns, violence, fire, use of the word "faggot," mentions of transphobia and molestation.
> 
> I used historical sources and quotes about the riots. I am not perfect, but I am nonbinary and have a fire in my stomach about this piece of history.

The brick was heavy in Mark Bennett’s hand as he prepared to lob it at the Stonewall Inn. His precious place of safety, where he could be _himself_ and be safe. Where yes, the police came and raided but they’d never been hurt.

He was tired of hiding. They all were. He caught the eye of Gordo Livingstone, who grinned at him while he helped a few others rip a parking meter from the ground, preparing to use it as a battering ram. 

Beautiful, headstrong, usually scowling Gordo Livingstone. Son of one of the mafia leaders who failed to protect them, who had no business owning places like Stonewall. Gordo Livingstone, who Mark was incredibly in love with.

\--------

 **EARLIER THAT NIGHT**  
Mark Bennett walked down Christopher Street towards the run down bar operated by the Genovese. He knew how to walk and talk in order to get in. This was his place, his comfort, and the only place he could see the man he loved. 

He approached the door and the bouncer looked through. Mark was regular enough that the door immediately opened, allowing him entry and a nod. When he’d first started frequenting the Stonewall Inn, he’d had to dress very particularly in order to be allowed through the front door. He’d even been turned away a few times, being told to “flake off.” Which was a bummer, but he quickly learned how he needed to dress and act to be allowed entry. Now he wore the tight pants and flowing tops because they made him comfortable, more in his own skin on these cool summer nights. 

The bouncer, a man named Tanner, took Mark’s $3 and passed him his drink tickets. “Don’t forget to sign your name,” he reminded him.

“No sweat,” Mark called back as he paused by the book. It was full of signatures, mostly fake names to protect the patrons, but needed to keep the place running as a so-called bottle club. Mark signed “Richard Collins” in the book with a chuckle. Richard was a man who’d once beat the shit out of Mark for being a “faggot,” until his older brother had stepped in. Until that moment, Richard and Thomas had been the best of friends. It felt properly vindictive to sign his name in this book time and time again.

The bar was painted black. It stunk of sweat and booze; of barely washed dishes and groady bathrooms you’d probably catch diseases in if you fucked in them. Mark breathed it all in with a grin. His happy place, no matter how grungy it might be. He hoped one day it would be owned by someone who cared about people like him. For now, at least they were safe from the pigs, for the most part.

He pushed through the crowd, exchanging cheek kisses with a few men as he passed. He could see his ex, Dale, at the end of the bar. The breakup had been amicable at first but now Mark tried to avoid him as often as he could.

He went to the other end of the bar and searched the crowd for a certain familiar face. It was hard to make out particular people in the darkness and blacklights; he sighed audibly.

“Lay it on me,” said a voice from behind him. Mark whirled around to see his friend Sylvia grinning at him. He didn’t see Sylvia often. There were two sections to the Stonewall Inn: the main part, where Mark spent his time, and the back room. A room for queens.

“Not to sound like a panty waist,” Mark said. “But if I don’t see Gordo in the next five minutes, I’m going to need to get blitzed to have a good time.”

Sylvia laughed. “I know where he is, don’t flip your wig. He’s dealing with some ticked off hunk who couldn’t handle rejection while Gordo waited for you to show. Turns out he didn’t know he was trying to get in the pants of a Mafia kid. He’ll be back soon.”

He sighed. “Solid. No one likes getting shot down,” he points out, sparing a glance towards the end of the bar. Dale was watching him so he threw up a two fingered salute, causing his ex to color and turn around to talk to the man he was with.

Sylvia gave him a friendly pat on the ass before pushing through the crowd towards the backroom. Mark turned back to the bar and ordered a brew.

It wasn’t long before Gordo found him. He looked unreal and not at all like he’d been out back fighting. Mark couldn’t stop his heart from skipping a beat as he looked him over. Dark tattoos and his usual uptight expression (even though Mark knew he was far from it).

Gordo immediately pulled Mark in for a kiss, breath tasting like cigarettes and beer. They pressed into one another, deepening the kiss. There were a few whistles from the other patrons that Mark tuned out, but most people were too busy dancing to take notice.

When they pulled apart, Mark squinted at his boyfriend. “Heard you had to chop a badass trying to get you back to his pad.”

Gordo huffed out a laugh. “All show and no go, I could tell. Also, stop using so much slang. It makes my head hurt trying to figure out what all this digging and chopping is.”

Mark frowned. “I like talking like that. Gordo, we’re in our 20s and you act like we’re too grown to talk like it. I’m older than you; take a moment. Have a blast. Don’t bug out. This place is boss. Should I go on?” And Gordo gave such a playful eyeroll and mock grown that Mark couldn’t help but kiss him again. “Just loosen up. We’re young, we’re gay, try and have a good time.”

And they did. The rest of the night went by in a blur of dancing and beer and smoke. While Mark and Gordo were a known item, they still got their kicks dancing with a variety of people. They never went too far from one another though, preferring to be within arm’s length. It helped to stay nearby because if someone made either uncomfortable the other could tell them to kiss off.

It was a perfect night, until it wasn’t.

Gordo had warned Mark that something had seemed off lately about the Stonewall Inn’s profits and connections with the police. Mark hadn’t wanted to believe it and Gordo’s dad had recently lost favor with the Genovese family so they’d been unable to figure it out. There hadn’t been any news of a raid tonight though and the hour had long passed for one to happen.

The lights flared on and the music came to a screeching halt. Mark’s stomach twisted as he blinked. _Pigs._ A few people screamed, a few others tried to run. But the doors were already barred. How had they gotten in? He could see the front door from where he was. Tanner was nowhere to be found. Instead, there was another bouncer there. They must have switched shifts midway through the night. This bouncer looked smug. Another undercover cop?

There were shouts to line up, to have your identification ready. They started to do so, but Mark watched as it didn’t go as expected. The women being told to go to the bathroom to have their gender checked refused. Men began to refuse to produce their IDs. Mark’s was sweaty in his hands. He looked towards Gordo and he could see it on his face. Gordo would refuse. Which meant Mark would, too. Because if Gordo got arrested, Mark would have to follow. He’d keep him safe, even if Gordo was the tougher one.

The line took forever. Mark’s discomfort grew as he watched the police begin to grope at women who refused to move. Though there were mostly men, they were lesbians and beautiful trans women and.. The pigs' hands were rough. Mark didn’t understand what was taking so long. He watched as they seized their alcohol and pushed everyone around for what felt like an eternity.

Before they could get to Mark’s end of the line, they’d arrested so many people they decided to let the remaining patrons go.

Their first mistake was trying to shut Stonewall Inn down.  
This was a natural consequence.  
Stonewall Inn was a riot.

Mark lined up with those who were not arrested as the size of the crowd seemed to swell. The people around him began to act out, Gordo included. They posed in exaggerated ways and mocked saluted the cops. There was uproarious applause. How could it be so loud? There were shouts of gay power and people singing the songs of Freedom Riders. They were restless, high-spirited, and angry. This hadn’t been planned, no one had a specific slogan, but they were bugged out. A pig hit a trans woman overhead with her own purse. Mark joined in as everyone booed loudly.

And then sudden silence. A patrol wagon lay rubber as it stopped suddenly outside of the bar. The first people to be shoved into the wagon were the mafia members. Mark clutched Gordo’s arm. “Don’t make this more hairy by showing yourself. Please.” 

Gordo pressed a small kiss to Mark’s temple. “No sweat, Mark.”

Mark could see Tanner being forced into the wagon. He must have stayed for a drink after his shift. He was handcuffed to the bartender, who looked wiped out. Mark wished he could split but he knew he wouldn’t dare.

He watched wide-eyed as a woman broke free time and time again. There was a gash on her head where an officer hit her with his baton. Mark could hear her yelling that her handcuffs were too tight as the baton cracked down on her head. She was hacked and the crowd was, too. 

“Why don’t you **do** something,” she called out and Mark watched the officer lift her into the car.

The crowd went berserk. The situation was explosive.

Some of the arrested people jumped from the wagon. They’d been left foolishly unattended. The crowd began to shove at the police wagon and suddenly they were peeling out, burning rubber in their haste to get away. Mark could hear the Inspector urging them to return quickly with backup.

More people were arriving, coming from other nearby bars, curious to see what the commotion was. Some idiot yelled out “Right on! Stick it to the man!” and Gordo yelled back to fuck off unless they were planning to help.

“The bar was raided because they wouldn’t pay off the cops,” one man yelled.

“Let’s pay them off,” someone yelled back.

Coins and beer cans flew towards the cops who began to attack the crowd. But there were somewhere between 500 and 600 people now and they were righteously angry. Mark thought he saw Dave Van Ronk grabbed, which made no sense as Van Ronk was definitely not a Stonewall patron. But then someone nearby yelled out the name of the singer and something lit in Mark’s chest. Because if heterosexual celebrities and Freedom Fighters were backing him, backing his crowd, than there was no way he couldn’t fight back.

The pigs barricaded themselves in the bar, bringing a few detainees with them inside as hostages. This only angered the crowd more and they were determined to break in.

The brick was heavy in Mark Bennett’s hand as he prepared to lob it at the Stonewall Inn. His precious place of safety, where he could be _himself_ and be safe. Where yes, the police came and raided but they’d never been hurt.

He was tired of hiding. They all were. He caught the eye of Gordo who grinned at him while he helped a few others rip a parking meter from the ground, preparing to use it as a battering ram. 

Gordo handed the parking meter off to the group just as the volley of bricks sailed towards the building. Mark let his loose as Gordo reached him, pulling two lighters from his pocket. “Grab the trash, we’re lighting it up.”

Burning trash flew and the police tried to extinguish it, extinguish the fire in the bellies of the crowd. But the hose was disconnected and only spurred them on further. Finally, they broke through the plywood that barricaded the windows. 

The police fired their guns, bullets tearing into the crowd. Someone inside lit the bar on fire. 45 minutes had passed. Blood was spilling.

They had been called fairies. No one had expected them to fight back. Mark could see it in the cops’ eyes: they were out for blood. The Tactical Police Force arrived and Mark had to swallow his fear. He watched as they began grabbing everyone they could to force them into vans. The trans women fought the hardest around him. They were furious because more than even gay men like Mark, the only place they could be them was being torn apart.

Suddenly, the police formed a military phalanx and began to march on the crowd. Mark and Gordo joined in to mock them, singing

_We are the Stonewall girls/ We wear our hair in curls/ We don't wear underwear/ We show our pubic hair._

to the tune of Ta-ra-ra Boom-de-ay. They were a chorus line, kicking towards the cops, and it wasn’t their best choice. Mark cried out in pain as a pig caught him in the back with a nightstick. He wrenched free and ran. He wasn’t the only one being chased. Gordo fell in line beside him and Tanner was there. They knew these streets better than the police did and suddenly they were chasing the pigs. Cars were being stopped and while Mark had stars in his eyes from the pain, he knew Gordo was seeing red with rage.

It was 4:00 a.m. when it all ended. Mark and Gordo were curled up on a stoop together, Gordo quietly tending to Mark’s wounds. There were people crying around them and electricity in the air. They knew it wasn’t over, but it was over for tonight. They would wake up the next morning to newspaper articles and rumors. There would be graffiti on the blackened walls of the inn. Mark knew that they would need to hang tough, keep fighting back, but for tonight… He just wanted to sleep.

\----------

**Stonewall was a riot.  
Never forget the trans women who started it.  
Never forget the gay men and lesbians who fought by their side.  
Never forget that there was a time in America that being gay was illegal.  
Never forget that LGBT individuals are still persecuted worldwide today.  
Never stop fighting. ******

****Love is love is love.  
Happy Valentine’s Day.** **

**Author's Note:**

> I truly hope you enjoyed! It was exhausting to use all the 1960's slang. If you need any of it explained, I can always make a list.


End file.
